


Our Little Trio

by Cleverclove



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 03:38:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15161747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleverclove/pseuds/Cleverclove
Summary: Héctor’s stomach lurched with suspense. He knew this marriage was too perfect. What if she’d found someone better? He knew, even since his youth, he was never the ideal suitor in town. With no money, influence, descent, or stereotypical good looks, he was ridiculed and reminded that he was a nobody on an almost daily basis. What if the illness was far worse than he thought? The idea crossed his mind and spread like poison. Imelda was his world, his sun, his moon, and his stars. Without her, there was nothing left for him. He bit his lower lip to restrain the trembling of his jaw and he stumbled over his words. “What is it, mi amor?





	Our Little Trio

    Héctor slung his guitar case around his body, exhausted from a long, grueling day’s work. He thought by now that he’d be quite used to Ernesto’s constant whining and complaints, but really, no one could blame him if he couldn’t “play with the proper spring in his step.” Imelda had been acting strangely of late: the consistent tiredness, the odd quietness, and how she had more mood swings than usual, even for her, couldn’t be normal. Héctor, against his better judgement, had decided to wait it out in case he turned out to simply be too worried about his wife. He didn’t abandon his belief, however, that something was seriously wrong, as the symptoms worsened with every passing day. Today was worst of all so far. When he got out of bed, she wasn’t there and had been found curled over by a stool, voice raspy as she said a curt goodbye. He set off for home, taking the measly tips from his guitar case and into his hand.

    “It’s what you get.” Ernesto had said, cross. “This is such a small town already. If you’ve grabbed their attention you can’t just let it go,  _ chamaco. _ If you want to get anywhere in the world…,” which was followed by a long lecture about fame that Héctor could not quite remember because his thoughts were only on Imelda. He followed the same old cobblestones leading towards their home. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for them. Now he knew something was wrong, because even at a distance he could see Imelda was waiting for him at the door, wearing an anxious look on her face. His walks turned into runs as she sauntered to greet him. She never waited like this in the short time of their marriage.

    “Imelda,” he started, barely disguising the worry in his voice, “sorry I’m late,  _ mi amor _ .”

    “Héctor.” Imelda’s voice was business-like but had a touch of urgency, only further enhancing Héctor’s concern. “I think it’s time we talk.” 

    Imelda practically forced him into the house, despite his pleas to know what was going on. She ushered him into a chair at the spacious dining table, forced both him and the chair next to it to face each other, and primly sat down. 

    “I have some news.” she said breathlessly, delicate hands meeting Héctor’s large, calloused ones.

    Héctor’s stomach lurched with suspense. He knew this marriage was too perfect. What if she’d found someone better? He knew, even since his youth, he was never the ideal suitor in town. With no money, influence, descent, or stereotypical good looks, he was ridiculed and reminded that he was a nobody on an almost daily basis. What if the illness was far worse than he thought? The idea crossed his mind and spread like poison. Imelda was his world, his sun, his moon, and his stars. Without her, there was nothing left for him. He bit his lower lip to restrain the trembling of his jaw and he stumbled over his words. “What is it,  _ mi amor _ ?”

    “I think our duet may become a trio.” Imelda squealed, a wide smile crossing her features.

    Héctor tilted his head in confusion. Was she suggesting that they get a dog? He did find a  _ perdido feo  _ in the plaza just last week and had actually named him Dante, despite Ernesto’s protests that ‘ _ it would follow them everywhere _ .’ “Are you suggesting we get a pet,  _ mi amor _ ?”

    Imelda slapped an open palm against her forehead, a small groan escaping her lips. She took a deep breath and bit her lip. “Lemme give you a hint.” Imelda said, taking Héctor’s hand and lead it to her belly. “Now do you get it,  _ cariño _ ?”

    “Oh.” Héctor sucked in a guilty breath, now understanding...or so he thought. “Was it the  _ chorizo _ ? I know I’m not the best cook but-  _ ¡Ay! _ ” Imelda had throttled him full-force and furiously, not at him himself, but at his obliviousness. 

    “DON’T YOU GET IT?! I’M HAVING A BABY! YOU’RE GOING TO BE A FATHER!” Imelda shouted. She regretted it soon afterward. The sun, once smeared warm and forgiving colors, was replaced by the deep dark blue of nighttime. The whole neighborhood would probably know by morning. Héctor was not focused on that, however, as his eyes grew ten times its size and allowed his hands, dampened with beads of sweat, to cover his slack mouth. 

    “So?” She asked gently, putting her hands on his cheekbones and gently lifted his head. “I know it’s big, but,” —Imelda stared at his reaction, worry and hope her main emotions at the moment. Maybe they weren’t ready to put down roots and start a  _ familia. _ Certainly they could do the latter, but setting down roots would be hard for Héctor, as traveling was part of being a  _ mariachi _ , and she didn’t want a broken family with the man she loved— “do you think we could maybe-?” Imelda was cut off by Héctor standing up, feet wobbling.  _ Oh, no _ , Imelda thought, reaching out to her prepared water basin in the middle of the table,  _ I  _ knew  _ he was going to faint _ . She reached her hand out, but suddenly, before she could stop it, Héctor had grabbed her body and spinned her around, belting out the largest, loudest, and longest  _ grito  _ she had ever heard. When he put her down, he did the most ridiculous, Héctor-like thing ever. He practically flew around the room in joy, arms outstretched and his long legs running, still doing the best of his  _ gritoes _ . He almost had the bouncy, flexible movement of a skeleton, and Imelda couldn’t help but smile in endearment. 

    When he had (somewhat) come back to Earth, he looked at Imelda with his face still beaming at the thought. “So,” she said coyly, “what’re we gonna name her?”

    Héctor waggled his eyebrows on her nonchalantly. “And how do you know it’s a girl,  _ mi amor _ ?”

    Imelda shrugged. “Mother’s instinct?” she said.

    “Just call her Imelda II.” Héctor joked.

    Imelda scowled. “I thought you were the artist in this marriage,  _ cariño _ , so prove it.”

    “Well in that case, I always liked the name Socorro.” Héctor said, tapping his goatee thoughtfully. “Coco for short, but we’ll make it up as we go.”

    “Coco,” Imelda said, half-smiling, “I like it.”

    “Coco it is.” He smiled with her. “Our little trio.” Héctor said before pulling her into a long, loving kiss. “Our little trio.” Imelda said. All would be well. It had to be.

The End.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I just made this trash and I am so sorry, I am not a good writer. This is extremely self-indulgent. My deepest apologies. Love, Cleverclove


End file.
